


Drabble #11

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Series: Drabbles [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, mentioned Sam/Jess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 10:26:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12982071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: Inspired by this absolutely gorgeous piece of artwork by azazelsocks





	Drabble #11

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this absolutely gorgeous piece of artwork by azazelsocks

The hunt was a long, rough one, and Sam is exhausted on every level, but he can’t sleep.

He somehow finds himself in the bunker gym, knuckles wrapped and entire body covered in a layer of sweat. He doesn’t know what time it is anymore, but it’s probably really late. Dean went to bed a long time ago. Cas buried himself in the library and he probably won’t emerge for several hours, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts.

In his mind, the punching bag is both himself and the vampire he wasn’t able to kill in time. He can’t get the image of that girl out of his mind- tiny little thing, barely sixteen, so much potential. Her body was so light in his arms when he carried her out of the burning warehouse, her blood staining the clothes he still hasn’t changed out of, her blonde hair fanning out around her head when he laid her on the sidewalk.

She looked like Jess.

Sam grunts, throwing a particularly powerful punch before grabbing hold of the punching bag and shoving his face into it to muffle his scream. His knees give out and he finds himself on the floor, sobbing into the rough fabric of the bag.

“Sam.”

Strong hands land on his shoulders, pulling him away from the bag and into a solid chest. Those same hand unwrap his knuckles before he’s scooped up in a bridal carry.

Sam can’t remember the last time he was legitimately carried- he’s too big, obviously- and he fights the hold for a moment.

“Sam, I’ve got you. Let me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

He settles into Cas’ arms, curling a hand into the lapels of a familiar trench coat. He’s carried down through the bunker to the bathroom, where Cas strips him of the bloody clothes and puts him under warm water. Cas sheds his own clothes and joins Sam in the shower, holding his lover close with an arm around a narrow waist. He takes his time washing Sam, scrubbing the tension from his muscles.

Once Sam is clean, Cas dries him off before lifting him once more. It’s a good thing Dean’s room is in another hall, because Cas doesn’t bother with clothes before carrying Sam down the hall to their bedroom.

Cas lays Sam on the bed, stretching out beside him and covering them both with the blankets. Sam cuddles against his chest.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs, pushing long hair off of Sam’s face. “None of it was your fault. You did your best, but you can’t save anyone and she would not blame you for what happened. It wasn’t your fault.”

Sam nods, tucking his face into Cas’ shoulder. He finally sleeps.


End file.
